


If You Love Me Right

by HoofbeatsOrThunder



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, First Date, Low key smut if I feel up to it?, Shower duets, becommissar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoofbeatsOrThunder/pseuds/HoofbeatsOrThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an Imagine-Your-OTP situation where Beca and her new neighbor basically have shower sing-offs and wonder where they've heard that voice before. Previously posted on tumblr (with-so-little-to-be-sure-of) but now posting here also. All critiques/comments/kudos welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She took my arm, I don't know how it happened

She’s roaming around her apartment at some ungodly hour of the morning when she first hears the commotion outside. Carefully peeking through the blinds of her small living room’s front window, Beca can just barely see what seems to be a new tenant moving into the apartment next to her own.  
  
“Really?” she mutters to herself. “Who does this? Who moves into an apartment at--” she squints at the oven clock across the room in the attached kitchen, “ Freaking _four twenty-six_ in the morning?” She tries to get a better view of the bodies moving in and out of the apartment, but Beca can’t see much other than the fact that most of them are wearing black and move with quick, ridiculous efficiency.  
  
Giving up on her spying, she moves over to the couch and flops down on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling and wishing for sleep to come. It doesn’t oblige her. Thoughts and feelings and broken strains of music jostle for her attention at the front of her mind, but she can’t seem to _focus_ on anything. Just like every night when she lays in her bed or camps out on the couch. Beca wants to sleep. She really really does, but her mind has other ideas, thinking that two in the morning is most certainly the best time to bring up every insecurity and anxious thought she ever considered having.  
  
She rolls onto her side, tucking her arms close to her chest, feeling like a lost child. Which she guesses is a pretty accurate description of her right now. Well, not the child part but most definitely the lost part.  
  
She’s been away from Barden University and living on her own for nearly four months now, and she still desperately craves the familiar atmosphere of the Bella House. She misses Fat Amy snoring across the room and leaving at all hours of the night to “secretly” meet with Bumper. She misses waking up to the sounds of Legacy singing in the shower at the top of her lungs. Misses snuggling up with Chloe and Stacie and the other girls for movie nights. Misses Jesse even though they had broken up two months ago.  
  
_God, she misses them._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beca makes an interesting discovery the next morning as she’s getting ready to work for the day. And by interesting she means vaguely annoying.  
She knew the walls of the apartments were pretty thin; she’s always hearing muffled noise coming the rooms above and below her own, but her apartment is on the side of the building and the next one over has always been vacant, so she’s never had to deal with someone actually living _next to her._  
  
All morning Beca hears her new neighbor rearranging furniture and loud, unintelligible voices. But she’s a mostly chill person, and she’s going to give them the benefit of the doubt and hope that eventually the noise level will settle down.  
  
And after about an hour, it does. Beca supposes that all the movers have left the premises and the new tenant/s have the place to themselves at last. _About damn time_ , she thinks as she heads into the bathroom and turns on the shower.  
  
Popping her iPod into the protective case on the shower wall, she sets it to shuffle through a random playlist as she washes her hair.  
  
Beca is midway through rinsing out the shampoo when she hears something just faintly over her music. Fumbling to pause the song she was jamming out to, she listens carefully and realizes that the noise is coming from next door, yet again. Then she hears it. Running water. and singing.  
  
All Beca can think, through the vaguely horrified haze that there’s another naked human probably less that six feet away from her, is _damn if the girl can’t slay it though._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly a week passes after Beca’s discovery of her new, highly vocal shower buddy before she can pluck up the courage to return to her own regularly scheduled shower singing. It’s not that she’s intimidated by the obviously talented woman next door. Nope, not at all. It’s not even the fact that the walls are _so freaking thin_ that Beca can hear every flawlessly sung word and syllable that slips past the mystery woman’s lips. Of course not.  
  
Okay, maybe it’s a little of both, but why should that stop Beca from continuing her usual jam sessions? Showers were meant for singing. Who is she to go against her own nature?  
  
So with some small amount of courage Beca stands under the nearly scalding stream of water and tries to think of a song that will suitably wow the next door competition. She’s about to break out into Titanium (it worked for her once, after all) when she hears familiar lyrics coming through the walls.  
  
One minute Beca is about to belt out a solo and the next she finds herself harmonizing absolutely ridiculously _perfectly_ with her neighbor as they sing Walk the Moon’s _Shut Up and Dance With Me_. The other woman's tone is as strong and flawless as ever, and Beca almost wishes she could see her, just to be able to match a body to such an amazing voice.  
  
They go through nearly the entire song, and Beca decides it’s time for her to step up her game. As the neighbor’s voice fades out, she starts _My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark_ ; it’s fast-paced and intricate, and Beca think she has Shower Buddy down for the count until she hits the chorus and hears the other woman’s distinctive voice hitting every note with mind-numbing precision.  
  
“Oh my God, are you kidding me?!” Beca shouts at the wall, and of course, her new nemesis continues singing, never missing a note. The brunette can almost feel the smug smirk being sent at her way. “Look, I get it, you’re perfect. I’ll admit it, but do you really have to rub it in?”  
  
There’s silence from the wall, nothing but the hiss of running water to fill the void. Then Beca hears it. Opera.  
  
Mother. Fucking. Opera.  
  
And it sounds glorious. The most beautiful thing Beca has ever heard, and she’s heard a lot of beautiful things. It’s flawless. Complete pitch perfect. And in some language she can’t even identify outside of the fact that it’s European. Beca can’t decide if she’s horrified or in love.  
  
“That is so unnecessary!” She stares at the white tile wall with some indefinable mixture of offense and hero worship. “Are you even human?” The singing on the other side breaks off and all the tiny brunette can hear is laughter.  
  
Deciding to beat a tactical retreat, Beca shuts off her now lukewarm water and slips away from the ringing bells of her neighbors delighted laughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One week and multiple shower sing-offs later, Beca finds herself rushing through her apartment, desperately searching for her phone so that she can leave to meet up Chloe and Fat Amy for feels like the first time in forever. If she was being honest with herself, she would admit that Shower Siren’s sultry rendition of some foreign song that Beca can’t even begin to identify that morning had majorly thrown off her groove and left her more than a little flustered.  
  
Digging under the cushions of her couch, she gives a victorious shout as she unearths her phone, quickly stowing it away in her purse. She’s racing out the door a half second later, key jingling merrily in her hand as she locks up behind her. To her left, she hears another door open and shut, but the brunette doesn’t pay the noise much mind until she’s whirling around to race for the stairs.  
  
Beca collides with a solid wall of chest and dark fabric before she can stop herself, and her hands fly up to rest against the poor person she nearly steamrolled. An apology is on the tip of her tongue, when she hears a voice she thought she had left far behind her, all the way in Copenhagen.  
  
“ _Tiny maus_? My, my what an interesting surprise this is.”  
  
Beca can’t quite convince her body to put some space between herself and those _flawlessly toned abs_ \-- oh God what is she doing?!  
  
She feels gentle fingers under her jaw, a steady pressure tilting her head back until she looking up into clear blue eyes that are crinkling at the corners with mocking amusement. “My eyes are up here, mein Schatz, though if you wish to continue admiring the view, I will not stop you.” Kommissar’s mouth lifts into a mischievous smirk, her gaze lighting up, and Beca could drown in those eyes, she really could.  
  
The smaller woman’s mind eventually catches up with the situation and she leaps away from the German as if burned. She stares at the statuesque blonde with more than a little shock. “Kommissar? What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
Kommissar straightens, her shoulders rising in an elegant shrug. “I live here, of course.” She grins and steps closer, a smug cat closing in on a hapless mouse. “What an odd coincidence that we should both be living in the same apartment building, in the same city.” She reaches out and casually brushes away a lock of hair that had escaped from the quick bun Beca had thrown it into this morning. Beca can’t contain the shiver that races up her spine when she feels those soft fingers against her neck. “I quite like your hair up like this,” Kommissar comments. “You have such a delicate neck.”  
  
“Yeah, why don’t you just bite me, then?” The words leave Beca’s mouth before she has time to process them, and the embarrassment she feels immediately afterward sends heat rushing to her face. “Oh my God, please let me die right now.” She hides her flushed face behind her hands, still reeling from the fact that this women, _this glorious specimen of German engineering_ , is actually here and that she still can’t control the tide of word vomit that insists on spewing forth in the blonde’s presence.  
  
“Do I still fluster you, tiny maus?” Kommissar asks, though her sly smirks says that she already knows the answer and is quite smug about it. She takes another step forward, and Beca takes a corresponding step back, trying to maintain some semblance of distance between them. The brunette doesn’t realize her mistake in retreating until her back hits the wall and she find herself trapped between a stunningly attractive rock and a hard place. Kommissar places a hand against the wall just next to the smaller woman’s shoulder for balance and leans further into Beca’s personal space. For some reason Beca can’t fathom, her blue eyes seem darker than usual.  
  
The brunette is close enough to her that she can smell the taller woman’s perfume, and _dear God, she smells so good, how could anyone smell that good?_ With some enormous effort, Beca pulls her thought together and manages to speak without making a fool of herself.  
“For real though, Kommissar, why are you here?”  
  
Beca swear she sees the taller woman’s gaze drop briefly to her lips as she speaks, but surely that’s just wishful thinking on her part? _Not that I want her to be looking at my lips. Definitely not, because that would mean she wants to kiss me, and-- oh hell._  
  
If Beca was previously under the impression that the blonde is well and truly in her personal bubble, she quietly comes to the understanding that she is _very wrong_ as Kommissar takes another small step forward, bringing their chests close enough that the silky fabric of her stunning-as-fuck blouse brushes against Beca’s own sweater. “Perhaps,” the blonde purrs, and oh God, Beca’s knees forget how to support her weight, “I was just leaving my own apartment to attend business when a rather careless maus stumbled into my path.”  
  
“More like your tall, perfectly proportioned body took up the entire hall. Did they feed you Miracle Grow as a child because this level of perfection doesn’t happen naturally. Fuck!” Beca snaps her mouth shut and drops her chin in an effort to curb the endless stream of embarrassing word vomit. Keeping her eyes downcast and turned away from the goddess holding her hostage against the wall, she mutters, “Can you please just let me go so that I can go crawl under a rock and hide for the rest of my life.”  
  
“Not today, tiny maus. Today, you will meet me here at eight o'clock this evening, and we shall go dancing and have dinner together.” Beca’s eyes dart up to stare at Kommissar with undisguised shock. Her jaw has taken up residence somewhere on the ground, but that’s the least of her worries at this particular moment.  
  
“What, you mean like a- a _date_?” she manages to stutter before the silence hangs too long. Kommissar tilts her long, pale-as-cream neck, smiling down on the brunette with eyes that are surprisingly devoid of their usual mocking amusement.  
  
“Precisely, liebling, a date. I intend to- what is the American phrase? Wine and dine you?”  
Beca can’t seem to stop staring. “ But _why_?”  
  
Kommissar sighs, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. She flicks a stray lock of golden blonde hair over her shoulder _and damn if every move she makes isn’t graceful_. “Because you are no longer my rival and you are interesting. I wish to see where this,” she gestures meaningfully between them, “will go if given the opportunity.” She cups Beca’s cheek with the hand she doesn’t have pressed to the wall, and Beca can’t stop herself from turning into the touch, sighing against the sinfully soft skin of Kommissar’s pale wrist. She catches herself and jerks away from the touch, but she can’t escape the heat in the taller woman’s eyes.  
  
Kommissar’s gaze travels slowly over Beca’s face but seem to fixate on her parted lips. No words pass between them, and yet the tiny brunette knows exactly what the German is thinking and it sets her heart racing. As she leans down, those glorious red lips coming ever closer to her own, Beca’s mind shuts down and abandons her at exactly the moment where she _really_ needs to be able to think things through. All she can do is tilt her head back and let it happen.  
  
The blonde pauses a hairsbreadth away, their lips almost brushing, and Beca can’t think, can’t breathe, _Oh God this is actually going to happen--_  
  
In the purse that’s dangling forgotten on her shoulder, her phone starts screeching some God awful pop song that Fat Amy set as her caller ID ringtone. Kommissar draws away slowly, smirking like the proverbial cat that caught the canary, her beautiful blue eyes alight with amusement, and is that disappointment?  
  
Before Beca can move to answer her phone or even say anything, the German bombshell pulls back, finally freeing the smaller woman from her cage against the wall. She brushes her knuckles down Beca’s cheek, and then turns away as if nothing happened. “I look forward to tonight, tiny maus,” she calls over her shoulder as she glides off down the hallway, as flawless and put together as when Beca first bumped into her.  
  
“Your breath smells like peppermints! Oh, _fuck me._ ”  
  
Kommissar pauses just before turning the corner and glances back over her shoulder to the flustered brunette. “That can be arranged, if all goes well this evening, tiny maus. Bis heute Abend.”  
  
Beca stares helplessly after the blonde as she disappears around the corner before coming to her senses and scrambling to find her phone.  
  
_God help me through this day._


	2. Now if we're talking body, you've got a perfect one

Seven forty-five that evening finds Beca pacing her small living room, avoiding furniture and piles of things by memory because she most certainly isn’t paying her surroundings any attention at this point.  
  
Her mind is racing. Why in the world did she agreed to actually go on a date _with the Kommissar_ of all the people? “Not that she really gave me a choice,” she mutters under her breath.  
  
But seriously though, what is she thinking, going along with this whole charade? She doesn’t even like the tall German woman, not at all, and even if she did by chance find Kommissar mind-numbingly attractive ( _which she most certainly did not_ ), they had nothing in common outside of being a capella singers.  
  
Beca circles back to the couch, flopping down with an aggravated groan. She cradles her head in her hands, staring blankly at the floor through the falling curtain of her hair.  
  
Okay, she will admit, if only to herself, that she is nearly vibrating with nerves at the thought of going out with Kommissar. But who could blame her. Honestly, the blonde literally sets the standard for beauty, with her flowing platinum blonde hair, perfectly sculpted eyebrows arching over eyes that would put the midday sky to shame. And oh God, _her body_ , all long, graceful limbs and perfectly toned--  
  
A knock at the door interrupts Beca’s thoughts, and she looks frantically at her phone, horrified to see that it’s eight o’clock on the dot and that she spent the past ten minutes fantasizing about Kommissar. Shaking her head to clear away the disconcerting thoughts, the brunette goes to the door and stops with a hand on the door knob. She takes one last, deep breath to calm herself and hopefully kill the blush threatening to spread across her cheeks.  
  
When she opens the door, Beca nearly smacks herself in the face, completely unprepared to see the glory that is the DSM co-leader. “Oh wow, do you always look like you just strutted off the runway?” she blurts before her brain can catch up with her tongue. The brunette groans, gently beating her head against the wood of the door. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_  
  
A soft but firm hand grasps Beca’s chin, preventing her from further berating herself. “Such a darling maus you are. Now stop this before you damage that pretty face of yours.”  
  
“You think I’m pretty?” The smaller woman almost cringes at the painfully hopeful tone of her voice, but it’s too late to take back the words now.  
  
Kommissar rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling fondly. “Ich finde, du bist schön, Liebling.”  
  
Hearing the German words roll flawlessly off the blonde’s tongue momentarily short-circuits Beca’s brain, and she ends up staring blanking up at the taller woman. “Um, okay, yeah. Wow.”  
  
Kommissar chuckles as she takes the brunette’s hands, tugging her forward and fully into the hallway. “Come now, tiny maus, the night is young, as they say. We must be going now.” Beca swallows against the dryness of her mouth and nods helplessly. She goes about locking up her apartment, constantly aware of the wall of heat just behind her. Just as she’s about to turn back to face her companion, the smaller woman feels hot breath brushing over her ear and hands ghosting over her waist.  
  
“Kommissar?” she asks breathlessly, unsure of the blonde’s motive but having no intention of stopping her.  
  
“You left your hair up for the evening,” the German murmurs in her ear. “I am glad.” Beca feels the lightest of kisses placed just above the neckline of her blouse and shivers at the brief contact.  
  
The moment is broken when Kommissar draws away and takes Beca’s hand to pull her down the hallway toward the stairs. The brunette struggles for a second to match the taller woman’s pace before settling into stride next to her. She clears her throat to try and dispel some of the tension hanging between them. “So, um, where are we going? You said something about dancing?”  
  
Kommissar glances down at the smaller woman. “There is a very nice club in the city that Pieter and I discovered when we here last. The food and drink are good, and the music is excellent.” She smiles at Beca slyly as they reach the parking lot, and the brunette jumps when a large, warm hand finds its way to the small of her back. “I wonder how well can you hold your liquor, tiny maus?”  
  
Beca wants to snark back with an appropriate comment about how she could drink the statuesque German under the table, but for once her brain is there to save her and she bites her tongue before it can slip out. “Well, I’m not a light-weight or anything, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” She grins up at the German, proud to finally answer without some failed insult-turned-compliment.  
  
“Good to know,” Kommissar murmurs, stopping next to a cherry red convertible. She pulls a set of keys from a seemingly nonexistent pocket in her sinfully tight leather pants. _Oh God_ , Beca thinks, _don’t stare at the leather pants. Don’t stare at her--_  
  
“Oh my God, is this your car?” Beca asks, trying to pull herself out of the gutter in which her mind seems to be living. Instead she stares at the car, impressed against her will. “Should have figured that you would go for the sports car.”  
  
Kommissar grins, giving the brunette a gentle push in the direction of the passenger door. “It is only a rental, liebling, until I can find something else more suitable.” She settles in the plush leather seat, eyeing Beca where she stands, still outside of the convertible. “Come, tiny maus. What are you waiting for?”  
  
The smaller woman shakes her head, getting in and quickly buckling her seatbelt. She admires how Kommissar looks against the dark leather seats, like a model pulled right out of the pages of some car show magazine. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re one of those terrifying need-for-speed kind of drivers?”  
  
“Such a nervous little maus,” the blonde says with a smirk and a flirtatious wink. Beca rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment.  
  
The majority of the car ride is spent with the two of them bickering over what radio station to listen to which is followed by an energetic debate about the merits of club remixes being played on the radio. Beca nearly forgets about her nerves, simply enjoying being able to discuss something within her interests to someone with knowledge of the subject. She voices that particular thought to the blonde.  
  
“Pieter and I shared the responsibilities of making the arrangements for our performances. It is necessary information for me to know.” She glances at the smaller woman from the corner of her eye, one brow raised in question. “What about you? Where does your interest in this lay?”  
  
“Well, if this internship I just started works out and everything goes as planned, which is never,” she shoots the German a playful look, “I want to be a music producer. I don’t want what I did with the Bellas, arranging songs and making mash-ups, to be the extent of what I can do. I want to actually _create_ things. Make something new, something that people will want to listen to and talk about.”  
  
Kommissar drives into a crowded parking lot, pulling into one of the few empty parking spaces, and turns to face Beca once she’s killed the engine. “It sounds as if, what is the phrase? You have your heart set in it?”  
  
“Set on it,” the brunette corrects. The taller woman nods her head emphatically.  
  
“Yes, that is what I meant. I have no worries for you, tiny maus,” she says, reaching out and brushing a stray bit of hair back behind Beca’s ear. “You have talent. These people would be blind not to see it.”  
  
The brunette stares blankly for a moment before reaching out and poking Kommissar in shoulder and then the neck. The blonde grabs her by the wrist before she can reach the taller woman’s cheek. “What are you doing?” she asks gruffly.  
  
Beca makes an overly concerned expression, “Checking to make sure you’re the real Kommissar and not some sort of imposter. Did it cause you physical pain to compliment me just then?”  
  
She can tell the exact moment that the German puts it together because she breaks out in the most adorably annoyed smile that Beca has ever seen, and wow, now all she can think about is finding a way to make Kommissar smile like that again. The taller woman shakes her head, sending her hair tumbling over her shoulders. “What a silly little maus I have.” She turns away then and gracefully climbs out of the car, all long legs and black leather.  
  
“Did I ever tell you how much I love those pants, because damn.” Beca closes her eyes when she realizes what she’s said, but she determined not to be embarrassed by her inability to keep her mouth shut around the other woman. _Might as well just accept it_ , she thinks as she fumbles for the door handle. She manages to get out without any issues, but when her heel catches in a crack in the pavement. Beca is certain that she’s about to face plant on the concrete when a strong arm wraps around her waist, stopping her mid-fall.  
  
The brunette is about to utter a thank you to the German for saving her face, but she feels all of her breath leave her in a rush when Kommissar pulls her firmly back against her, Beca’s back pressed against every inch of the the taller woman’s front. With an arm still wrapped around her waist like a vise, _dear God this woman could probably bench press me_ , the smaller woman finds herself trapped and in no way interested in freeing herself.  
  
“Wie tollpatschig du bist,” Kommissar breathes against Beca’s ear.  
  
She tries to reply, really she does, but all that escapes the brunette’s mouth is a strangled squeak. Kommissar chuckles behind her, low and deep in her throat, and Beca can _fucking feel_ the vibration of the sound in the blonde’s chest where it is pressed oh so intimately against her back. Eventually Beca finds her voice. “Um, we should probably go inside, you know, before I decide to climb you like a tree in the middle of the parking lot.”  
  
The blonde pulls away finally with a loud, full laugh that echoes in the humid evening air. Taking Beca by the hand and lacing their fingers together, Kommissar drags her toward the club entrance, grinning over her shoulder at the smaller woman.  
  
“Since you are so tiny, perhaps I will find you a ladder, ja? To help with your... _climbing_?”  
  
Beca blushes a bit at the teasing, but rolls her eyes and decides to just go with it. They’ve reached the entrance to the club at this point, and the brunette is suddenly distracted by the dazzling lights set over the crowded dance floor and the thumping bass of a song she doesn’t recognize. The place seems to be ridiculously popular with the younger crowds, the bar and dance area fit to burst with college age people.  
  
Kommissar releases Beca’s hand, and the brunette regrets the loss of the contact until she feels a large hand press against the small of her back to direct her towards an empty booth.  
The blonde nudges her into one of the seats and says, “I will get our drinks. Do you have a preference, tiny maus?”  
  
Beca tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding the taller woman’s heated gaze as best she can. “I don’t know, something fruity? Surprise me.” Kommissar gives her a toothy grin.  
  
“So trusting of my judgement?” she asks teasingly. “I will try not to disappoint.” She brushes a hand down the smaller woman’s cheek before leaning down and placing a kiss just under her ear.  
  
As Kommissar saunters off to the bar, Beca unabashedly watches the hypnotic sway of the German’s hips and really wishes she had a glass of ice water to dump over her own head. Eventually she loses track of her date ( _Oh my god, I’m on a lesbihonest to God date with that flawless being_ ) takes a moment to appreciate the club mix blaring out over the whole building. The music is pretty good, she’ll admit, but there’s probably a few things she would change if she was DJing the place.  
  
Beca’s thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of some random stranger just at her side. She looks up, startled, when the guy braces a hand on the seat just behind her shoulder and leans in unnecessarily close. When he speaks, the brunette wrinkles her nose at the overwhelming smell of alcohol on his breath.  
  
“You wanna dance, babe?” She grimaces and leans as far from the encroaching dudebro as she can. She starts to shake her head to turn him down when he grabs her hand, his own grip too warm and too tight. “Come on, babe, you don’t wanna sit here alone all night.” He crowds even closer, completely boxing Beca into the booth and giving her nowhere to go. The very beginnings of panic start to take root in her chest. She nearly gags when he slurs into her ear, “I can make it worth your while, sweetheart. Why don’t we dance for a bit, and then you can come home with me.” The hand behind her shoulder creeps onto her neck, sweaty fingers stroking her neck.  
  
“I don’t see how that would be possible, since she is here with me.”  
  
Beca doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy to hear that rough German accent.  
  
She looks over Dudebro’s head to see Kommissar looming to her fullest height (which, _holy shit_ , is so impressive) and giving the guy the coldest glare the brunette has ever witnessed in her life. Like for real, that stare would have sent even Medusa running for the hills. Unfortunately, this guy wasn’t that smart.  
  
Dudebro spins around to face the blonde, shoulders tense and looking like he’s ready to punch whoever interrupted him. For a brief moment, Beca is worried he actually might try to hurt Kommissar, but then she sees the mocking amusement settle like a mask over the German’s face and she understands that the situation is well in hand. She settles back in her seat to enjoy the show.  
  
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the guy slurs, trying to stand up straight to match the taller woman’s height.  
  
Kommissar tilts her head ever so slightly, her expression conveying just how stupid she finds him. “I am her girlfriend, kleiner Idiot, so you had best move along. I’m sure you have other women to prey upon with your unwanted attentions, yes?” She gives him a sharp smile, all teeth and dark intentions. She sets the two drinks she’s holding down on the table and proceeds to bump Dudebro out of the way with a sharp twist of her leather-clad hips. Before Beca can quite realize what’s happening Kommissar is sliding into the seat next to her practically plastering herself to Beca’s side and wrapping a long, perfectly toned arm around her shoulders.  
  
The blonde leans in even closer, until Beca can feel her breath hot on the shell of her ear. Between being distracted by the lips teasing the skin of her ear and the warm hand _creeping up her thigh_ , the brunette barely notices Dudebro stalking away and muttering obscenities under his breath.  
  
As soon as he’s gone, Kommissar is pulling away, giving Beca space to breath again. She reaches out and grabs her drink, something dark that the smaller woman imagines is strong enough to knock her on her ass, and takes a delicate sip. “What a rude interruption of our date,” the blonde comments after she sits her drink back on the table. She pushes the other glass, filled with a pale orange cocktail, towards Beca and encourages her to try it.  
  
The brunette is just taking a careful sip of the drink when Kommissar leans in yet again and murmurs in her ear, “This one, I think, is called sex up against the wall?”  
  
Beca inhales sharply and nearly chokes on the cocktail, spluttering as she sets it back on the table and buries her head against the German’s shoulder to hide her burning face. The blonde pets her hair, and she can hear the smirk in the other woman’s voice when she says, “So easily flustered you are, tiny maus. What am I to do with you?” The low timbre of Kommissar’s voice threatens to derail Beca’s train of thought yet again.  
  
She pulls back slightly and finds herself close enough to the older woman that she can see the tiniest flecks of grey in her clear blue eyes. “Your eyes are like looking into the ocean,” Beca whispers. Kommissar’s lips tug into a small smile, and the brunette finds her gaze wandering to follow the movement. If she leaned forward just a bit…  
  
Kommissar moves toward her just the slightest bit, and their breath mingles in the space between them. The blonde’s eyes are hooded and oh so dark with something that Beca hopes and prays is desire, because she feels like she is going to burn alive with the feelings this woman draws out of her.  
  
Suddenly, the German is pulling away, staring out toward the dance floor with renewed intensity. She turns that confident, heated gaze to smaller woman, a grin pulling at the corners of her full, red-painted lips. She takes Beca by the hand, drawing her out of the booth. “I like this song. Will you dance with me, tiny maus?”  
  
“As if I would pass on any opportunity to have you grind on me.” She hears the words as soon as they leave her mouth, and she would be so tempted to beat her head against the nearest hard surface if she were not so busy trying to hide her burning face. “Oh God, did I actually say that out loud?” She’s saved from complete mortification by the sensation of Kommissar’s large hands on her hips and soft lips brushing her ear.  
  
“Such a tempting little thing you are,” the blonde breathes against her temple. The hands at Beca’s hips inch up to her waist and slip behind to splay across her back. She swears she can feel the heat of the taller woman’s hands through the fabric of her blouse. “Watch what you say, Beca, or I may not be able to keep myself from taking you up on your offers.” She punctuates the statement by jerking the smaller woman against her, their bodies touching from chests to knees.  
  
The brunette manages to swallow without choking on the sudden dryness of her throat. “Are we going to dance or what, you flawless angel.”  
  
Kommissar throws back her head and laughs, the carefree sound doing pleasant things to Beca’s stomach.  
  
“I like it when you are feisty,” the other woman says, putting some small amount of space between them, which was both an annoyance and a god-send to the flustered brunette. The German turns on her ridiculously tall and sexy-as-fuck heels and saunters off to the crowd of dancing bodies across the club. She throws a look over her shoulder to Beca, who is staring openly at the sway of Kommissar’s hips and admiring how well she rocks a pair of leather pants.  
  
Under the flashing club lights, the German rolls her hips in time to the beat of the music, twisting in such deliciously sensual ways that the smaller woman has to close her mouth to keep from drooling. Kommissar catches her eyes and beckons her with a crooked finger.  
  
Suddenly, without realizing she had even moved at all, Beca is there with the taller woman, swaying to the hypnotic rhythm of the music, dark blue eyes locked with grey. Kommissar grins, running her hands down her sides, the muscles of her thighs coiled and flexed, and damn if Beca doesn’t want to peel those pants off the blonde to see how the muscles play under smooth, flawless skin.  
  
She steps closer, moving well into the taller woman’s space, their knees brushing as they dance. Beca wishes she were more out-going, more of a go-getter, because all she wants to do is run her hands over every inch of Kommissar’s toned torso and see if it’s just as soft as her hands.  
  
Thankfully, the song ends before she can embarrass herself, but she nearly groans when the next is slower, definitely a mushy couples’ song. Beca is about to try and beat a hasty retreat when a long arm snakes around her waist and cradles her against the taller woman’s body. Their height difference makes things a little awkward at first until Kommissar arranges them so that they can sway against each other in time with the music. The smaller woman is about to close her eyes to just enjoy the sensation of being held when her date leans down to speak in her ear.  
  
“So, tell me something about yourself, tiny maus. Something that I do not already know.”  
  
Beca stares blankly at the pale column of Kommissar’s throat. “Um, like what?”  
  
Kommissar rolls her eyes. “What is your favorite color? Or perhaps, what sort of movies do you like? These are things usually discussed on first dates, ja?”  
  
The brunette shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, I guess. Alright, so my favorite color.” She racks her brain, trying to come up with an answer and, more importantly, trying to ignore the wandering hand on her lower back. Her eyes jerk upward to meet the blonde’s smirk when clever fingers creep under her blouse and trace feather-light circles just above the waistband of her skinny jeans. Beca struggles to remember what it is she’s supposed to be thinking of as she falls helplessly into Kommissar’s heavy gaze.  
  
“Blue,” she blurts suddenly. “Like the blue of the ocean. Like your eyes.” She would have slapped a hand over her traitorous mouth if it weren’t trapped in the German’s sure grip. Instead, Beca buries her face in the warm wall of goddess in front of her without putting much thought into just _where_ she’s face-planting.  
  
“Goodness me, what a forward little maus.” The smaller woman recognizes her error immediately and tries to pull away, only to be held even more tightly in the secure cage of Kommissar’s arms. Then, the blonde leans down and places her full, luscious lips just below Beca’s ear and purrs, “Perhaps later you can show your appreciation for that particular part of my body, but for now,” she quickly spins the brunette around so that the taller woman is pressed intimately against Beca’s back, “we still have much dancing to do.” Kommissar’s breath is like fire dancing across her neck. “Show me your moves, tiny maus.”  
  
The music changes, losing the slow beat and picking up a little. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Beca recognizes Tove Lo’s _Talking Body_ , but she’s far too busy memorizing the feeling of the German’s hips grinding against her ass to really care about the song choice.  
  
She presses back into the welcoming wall of heat that is the flawless blonde, trying to keep up with the beat and give as good as she gets. Reaching behind her, the smaller woman grabs at Kommissar’s thigh, _oh God the muscle definition_ , keeping their bodies pressed tightly together.  
  
Beca loses track of how long they dance, if what they’re doing can even still be called dancing. The longer they move against one another, the more frantic she begins to feel, the need to do something rising in her stomach. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so horny in her life, and she definitely never felt like this when she was dating Jesse. And Christ, they haven’t even kissed. Yet.  
  
Twisting in Kommissar’s arms, the smaller woman reaches up on tip-toes and presses a long, sucking kiss just above the neckline of her dark halter top. The hands on her waist clench sporadically, and Beca swears she hears the faintest of moans slip past her date’s cherry red lips. She imagines it almost sounds like her name.  
  
“ _Beca_ ,” the German whispers again, and holy fuck, Beca didn’t think that the sound of her name would ever set her blood to boiling, but coming from that perfect mouth…  
  
The brunette continues her assault against Kommissar’s skin, moving higher up her neck with every nip and drag of her teeth. Has anything ever tasted so good against her tongue?  
  
Beca could keep going like this forever, but Kommissar has other ideas, large hands suddenly cupping her jaw and pulling her away. She’s about to open her mouth to complain until she’s cut off by Kommissar crushing their lips together, and Beca promptly forgets every thought she ever considered having.  
  
She runs her hands down the blonde’s sides, wishing she could press herself even closer to the toned perfection that is the German’s body. Kommissar’s lips move against her own with surprising tenderness, teasing and sucking at her bottom lip until Beca is practically panting for more.  
  
“Du machst mich verrückt,” Kommissar murmurs against her lips, drawing back just enough that she can look the smaller woman in the eye.  
  
Beca nearly groans when she hears those roughly spoken words. “If anyone is going crazy, it’s me. You’re so fucking perfect.”  
  
The German freezes against the brunette, staring down at her with eyes nearly black with desire. “Du sprichst Deutsch, kleine Maus?”  
  
She has just enough brain power left to reply. “Ein wenig?”  
  
Kommissar grins broadly, running a hand down Beca’s arm so that she can lace their fingers together. “Let us sit for a moment, tiny maus. Find our breathe, ja?”  
  
The smaller woman wants to pout and keep the flawlessly blonde on the dance floor so they can continue…whatever it was they were doing, but instead she allows herself to be lead back to their table. Sliding in next to Kommissar, Beca reaches out to pick up her drink from earlier, but a perfectly manicured hand stops her. Glancing at her date, Beca nearly melts in her seat from the heated look the blonde is sending her way.  
  
“You never mentioned that you speak my native tongue, tiny maus. What other secrets are you hiding from me?”  
  
“I mean, it wasn’t really a secret or anything. It just kind of never came up before. Because we were always rivals before, and then after Worlds we didn’t see each other, and then you kinda caught me off guard when you just magically appeared in my apartment building--”  
  
Kommissar presses a gentle finger against Beca’s lips to stop rambling, and the brunette is almost thankful to her for halting that embarrassing rush of words. She tries again. “You never did tell me why you’re here. In New York, I mean.”  
  
The German leans back a bit, giving Beca a long considering look. “I am taking a break from DSM,” she says finally, casually putting an arm around the smaller woman’s shoulders and carefully studying the nails of her free hand. “I have taken a job with a dance studio in the city.”  
  
Beca raises a skeptical brow. “And you just happen to end up in the same city and apartment building as me?”  
  
Kommissar gives her a sly smile. “Both coincidences, liebling. I assure you, I haven’t been, what is the word? Stalking you?”  
  
The brunette rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t insinuating that you were. It’s just weird, don’t you think? That we both ended up in the same building at the same time?”  
  
The German leans in close, and Beca knows from previous experiences that she should feel uncomfortable with her personal space being so completely invaded, but for once she can’t find it in herself to be bothered. “Perhaps it is fate that we should meet again, tiny maus.”  
  
Chuckling a bit, Beca asks, “Do you really believe in that kind of thing? That some cosmic force got bored and brought us back together for another round of cat-and-mouse?”  
  
The arm around her shoulders draws her closer to the blonde, and Beca forgets how to breathe for a moment. With her free hand, Kommissar tilts the smaller woman’s head back and leans in so that their lips are nearly brushing.  
  
“I am not sure, but I do not think I should question my good fortune, ja? I intend to, what is the phrase you Americans are so fond of using? Seize the day?”  
  
“Carpe diem,” Beca whispers and moves forward to close the miniscule distance between their lips. She sighs into the contact, but it quickly turns into a moan as Kommissar slips her tongue into Beca’s mouth and proceeds to explore every inch of the space. She clenches a fist in the silky material at the German’s stomach, aching to touch the smooth skin underneath. Giving in to her desire, the brunette slides a timid hand under the halter top, fingers ghosting over the taut muscles of the other woman’s stomach. She feels a vague sense of satisfaction when Kommissar shivers under her hand.  
  
A drunken shout behind her brings Beca back to the present, where she is still in a very public place engaging in very not-public-appropriate activities, and she pulls away from Kommissar, a hot blush staining her cheeks. The blonde smirks down at her, seemingly quite pleased with how flustered Beca is, but the smaller woman can also see how blown the German’s pupils are, how her breath comes a bit shorter than usual. To know that she can affect Kommissar in such a way gives her a heady feeling.  
  
“Stopping so soon, kleine maus? We were just getting started.”  
  
Beca swallows against the knot in her throat. “It’s just that, um, we’re still at a club, and I’m not really down for getting super frisky in a public place. Even if you are totally smoking hot.”  
  
Kommissar tilts her head, golden hair falling over her shoulder in elegant waves. “Shall we return to your apartment, then? To finish what we have started?” she asks slyly, a filthy smile that promises equally filthy thing spreading on her red lips.  
  
Grabbing the taller woman’s hand and hauling her out of their booth, Beca glances up through her lashes at the German. “Trying to get in my pants already?”  
  
Kommissar flashes a grin, leaning down and running her lips over the smaller woman’s jaw, stopping just at her ear.  
  
“Oh, liebling, I haven’t even begun to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations courtesy of the wonderful lilolilyrae:
> 
> Ich finde, du bist schön, Liebling-- I think you are beautiful, darling.
> 
> Wie tollparschig du bist -- How clumsy you are.
> 
> Du machst mich verrückt -- You drive me crazy
> 
> Du sprichst Deutsch, kleine Maus? -- You speak German, tiny mouse?
> 
> Ein wenig? -- A little?


	3. Saw your face, Hear your name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long delay! Real life got a bit hectic and then writers block tried to take over. Thank you, everyone, that commented and sent kudos! It kept me motivated to see this to the end.

Despite the fact that their date seems to have been cut off a bit prematurely, Beca can’t find it in herself to even be upset about it. Being pinned against the side of a cherry red sports car by a giant, blonde goddess may have something to do with her lack of disappointment.  
  
Kommissar leans further into the smaller woman, deepening their kiss and pressing forward with her tongue, and Beca can’t contain the moan that’s quickly smothered by the woman’s eager mouth. She runs her hands along Kommissar’s waist, the heat of the taller woman’s skin scorching her through the silk fabric of her blouse. She drags her fingertips down that flawlessly toned stomach, and the blonde jerks against her, gasping into her mouth.  
  
Beca whines when the blonde pulls away, but her disappointment is short-lived as Kommissar presses open-mouth kisses along her jaw. “Perhaps,” she says, breath ragged and hot against Beca’s ear, “we should take this elsewhere, ja?”  
  
The smaller woman struggles to find words and string together a coherent sentence, especially as the German angel traces the shell of her ear with lips. _Oh God, her lips are so soft. How even…_  
  
Pressing her hands against the firm wall of heat that is Kommissar’s perfect stomach, Beca swallows and finally says, “Um, yeah. Totally. Somewhere more private would be great.” She can practically feel the older woman grinning against her neck as she speaks.  
  
“So eager, tiny maus?” The hand resting on her lower back inches even lower, fingers teasing just under the waistband of her skinny jeans. Kommissar shifts even closer, which Beca hadn’t even realized was fucking possible, and presses their hips together in a completely unsubtle, very not-platonic way, and _holy shit, breathe Beca, remember to breathe._  
  
“Who wouldn’t be; you’re fucking flawless, and I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”  
  
The blonde chuckles, deep and low in her chest. _Fuck. I am so fucked_ , Beca thinks as Kommissar draws away ever so slowly, fingers dragging along the smaller woman’s waist until they eventually drop to her sides, some space finally coming between. _Still not even enough room for Jesus in here though._  
  
“Get in the car, tiny maus, “ the German says with a smirk that threatens to short circuit Beca’s brain. “Unless you wish to become, what is the word in English? An exhibitionist?”  
  
And then, of course, the brunette’s mind goes straight to gutter, but somehow she manages to get herself into the car despite the haze of hormones threatening to eat away at her brain. She watches as Kommissar saunters around to the driver’s door, slipping into the low seat with the grace of a ballerina. She knows she’s staring at the taller woman’s legs (which, in her humble opinion, are true works of art), but Beca can’t make herself look away, even when the blonde catches her in the act.  
  
“See something you like?” Kommissar looks like the cat that caught the canary, all smug grins and bright eyes. Beca feels like some grubby child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Choking back whatever unintentional compliment she was about to blurt, the brunette tries to be cool and just gives her companion a wink before turning away to stare out her window.  
  
The car rumbles to life, and Beca stares at the passing streetlights as they drive back to their apartments. Her head is just starting to free itself from its earlier hormone fog when she feels a large hand on her thigh. She jumps and turns to look at the blonde across from her.  
  
Kommissar doesn’t take any notice of the smaller woman’s stare, keeping her eyes firmly on the road even as her hand continues to creep up Beca’s leg, long fingers dragging teasingly along the inner seam of her skinny jeans. The brunette’s head falls back against the head-rest, and she bites her lip to prevent herself from making some really embarrassing noises. She’s barely even touching me, Beca thinks a bit desperately. _Why does she make me feel like some horny teenage boy. I am a grown-ass woman and-- Oh my God._  
  
Kommissar’s touch goes from teasing brushes to full on caresses, her strong hand massaging the tense muscles of Beca’s thigh. The brunette stares blankly at the hand so near her lap, mind struggling to compute the situation. “Um… Kommissar?”  
  
“Perhaps now is a good time for you to learn my name, ja?” A finger brushes lightly along her zipper. “My title is nice, but I want to hear you screaming my name before this night is over.”  
  
Beca blinks and feels heat rising in her face. _Well, that may have been hot enough to just melt the pants right off me._  
  
The blonde turns to look at the smaller woman as she tries to find words, any words at this point, that aren’t ‘Fuck me’, ‘Oh my God’ , or something equally incoherent and lust-addled. A grin stretches across red-painted lips. “What is it, tiny maus? Cat have your tongue?” They pull into the parking lot for their apartment complex, and Beca still hasn’t managed to untangle her thoughts enough to reply. Kommissar doesn’t seem overly bothered by her silence.  
  
“So quiet,” she murmurs, putting the car in park and turning to face her companion. “Where has my feisty maus gone?” She reaches over, knuckles brushing gently across Beca’s flushed cheek and moving to tuck a stray, dark curl back behind her ear. Suddenly, Kommissar is leaning over the console, hands framing the smaller woman’s face, and Beca nearly forgets to breathe again when their lips brush teasingly.  
  
The brunette leans into the contact only for the taller woman to draw away. “Kommissar,” she whines, and is rewarded by the other woman’s renewed attention to her lips.  
  
Beca feels that anxious, desperate heat pooling low in her stomach yet again, and moans into her companion’s mouth, rejoicing in the hitch in the Kommissar’s breathing as a result.  
  
“Nein, maus, my name is Luisa,” the German whispers as she draws away once again. Before Beca can complain or comment, the blonde goddess is out of the car and rushing around to the passenger door. The brunette wastes no time and hurries to meet her, opening the door and clamboring out just as Kommissar-- no, Luisa,-- reaches her.  
  
They crash together against the side of the car with roaming mouths and shaky gasps that hang enticingly in the night air. The smaller woman shudders pleasantly as she’s pressed insistently against the sports car, the cool metal at her back contrasting amazingly with the wall of heat at her front. She reaches up and wraps her arms around Luisa’s neck, fingers tangling in loose blonde hair-- _so soft_ \-- to pull the taller woman closer to her level. The German comes willingly, long arms sliding around Beca’s back to cradle her more closely to the taller woman’s body. _Is this what Heaven feels like_ , she thinks as one of Luisa’s hand drop to cup her ass and runs down to grab the back of her thigh, pulling it up so she can wrap her leg around the taller woman’s hip.  
  
Beca whimpers helplessly into the kiss. The need for air finally overrules her desire to explore the wet heat of Luisa’s mouth, and she pulls away with a gasp to bury her face in the other woman’s neck. Hovering over her, the German pants against the brunette’s temple.  
  
Finally, Beca manages to find her voice. “I-- I think we should take this inside,” she murmurs, lips brushing the heated skin of Luisa’s neck with every word. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the first time I fuck you to be in this car, even if that’s actually super hot.” She clamps her mouth shut, trying to stem the tide of word vomit even as she blushes hotly. _Jesus H. Christ, where did my brain-to-mouth filter go?_  
  
Luisa chuckles into her hair, which sets goosebumps rising on the sensitive flesh at the nape of the brunette’s neck. She pulls away just enough to look down at Beca, blue eyes dark with desire. “So it is you that will be doing the fucking, tiny maus?” She runs the tips of her fingers along the smaller woman’s collarbones where her blouse leaves them exposed. With her free hand, the blonde grasps the leg still wrapped around her hip and gives it a sharp tug, bringing their hips together even more snugly. Beca’s eyes flutter closed, and she struggles to lock down on the moan building in her throat.  
  
“Luisa, _please_ ,” she whispers, not even caring how breathy her voice sounds. The German’s own breathing hitches and she practically jerks Beca against her front, eyes burning as she stares down at the smaller woman.  
  
“I have never liked my name,” she says lowly, her voice dropping at least an octave-- _holy shit, why is that so hot_ \-- “but I think I could learn to, hearing it from your lips.”  
  
“Oh my God, we need to get to my room, like now. Before we end up giving the entire neighborhood a show,” Beca says, scrambling to free herself from the taller woman’s grip. Luisa allows her to pull away and follows closely on the brunette’s heels as they rush to the apartment complex’s lone elevator.  
  
Once inside the cramped space, it’s all Beca can do to keep her hands off the statuesque blonde looming behind her. The other woman doesn’t seem to be struggling with that problem, however, as she wraps an arm tightly around the brunette’s waist and pulls the smaller woman back snugly against her front. The heat is overwhelming.  
  
Soft lips start placing kisses across the top of her shoulder where her blouse has shifted sideways. When they reach Beca’s neck, the kisses turn hotter, open mouth and just a hint of wet. Luisa suddenly sucks hard just under the brunette’s ear, leaving Beca a whimpering mess of hormones, and then licks gently at the spot to soothe the riding redness away.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” she mutters, letting her head drop back to rest against Luisa’s chest, twisting her neck to give the taller woman better access. She reaches up with one hand to cradle the German’s head, fingers tangling in loose blond curls. As her nails scrape across the older woman’s scalp, Luisa groans, the sound vibrating through Beca’s neck and going straight to her core.  
  
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open silently, interrupting the women from what is probably heading toward a display of PDA that is entirely inappropriate for a public elevator. _Shit, what if there’s a camera in here?_  
  
The warm body behind her shifts, impatient hands nudging Beca out of the cramped space and rushing her towards the end of the hall to her door. The lips on her neck leave her skin only long enough to whisper hotly into her ear, long strings of German that the brunette can translate just well enough to understand that Luisa is literally trying to kill her via dirty talk before they even reach a bedroom. _I will pitch slap anyone that ever tries to convince me that German isn’t hot as fuck_ , she thinks as she digs frantically through her purse in search of her keys.  
  
Luisa stands closely at her back, watching intently. Hands creep onto her hips, and Beca fumbles the keys briefly before she manages to find the right one on the ring. Between the the sinful lips teasing at the juncture where her neck and shoulder meets and the clever fingers tracing patterns into the heated skin just above the waist of her pants, the smaller woman honestly believes it’s a fucking miracle that she can even think clearly enough to unlock the door.  
  
But eventually she is successful, and she wastes no time in dragging the German into her apartment, her mind full of provocative images of how she wants the night to end.  
  
As sensing her thoughts, Luisa pins the brunette to an empty stretch of wall, hovering over the small woman like some glorious avenging angel. “I have such plans for you, tiny maus,” she whispers, and Beca shudders even as the older woman chuckles hotly into her neck.  
  
_Sweet Jesus, Mary mother of God, help me through this night._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_She‘s suspended over Beca, blonde hair falling like curtains around her sharp-enough-to-cut-glass cheekbones, framing grey eyes only a shade darker than ice. Her gaze is anything but cold._  
  
_“Ich will dass jeder weis dass du mir gehörst,” she murmurs, placing delicate kisses along the brunette’s neck. She moves down and down and down, nipping at the taut skin over her sternum, just under her breasts, pauses above the smaller woman’s stomach. She stops completely, hands braced on either side of Beca’s hips, and gives the girl a grin. “What would you have me do, Beca?”_  
  
_Suddenly there’s a hand under her knee, drawing it over the German’s flawlessly sculpted shoulder. Beca forget how to breathe, can only watch helplessly as Luisa’s talented mouth moves closer to where she truly needs it--_  
  
A door closes across the room, and Beca snaps awake, the dream hanging like a haze over her mind. Shaking her head in hopes of clearing away the fog of hormones, the brunette looks over to the other side of the bed, but finds only empty sheets. Luisa is nowhere to be seen and her clothes, which had been thrown recklessly about the bedroom in their rush to fall into bed, are also missing. Beca runs a hand through her hair, grimacing at the slightly greasy feeling at her scalp. _She didn’t even hang around to say she was leaving_ , she thinks as she slips out of bed.  
  
Beca wants to deny that the heavy feeling in her stomach is because of the practically non-existent amount of alcohol she drank the night before, but she knows herself well enough to recognize disappointment when she feels it. Sighing, she slips on a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt and scrounges around for a towel and clothing for the long day ahead.  
  
The brunette opens the bedroom door and starts to move down the hall toward the apartment’s single bathroom, when she hears something that stops her in her tracks.  
  
Creeping along the wall, she hovers outside the bathroom door, which is opened just a crack and stares with barely restrained wonder into the steam-clouded room.  
  
“ _Saw your face, heard your name. Gotta get with you. Girls like girls like boys do, nothing new_.” Over the running water, Beca can hear Luisa singing, and for nearly a whole minute, she’s struck stupid by the sound of the angelic German voice.  
  
“ _Isn’t this why we came? Gotta get with you. Girls like girls like boys do, nothing new. Girls like girls like boys do, nothing new_.”  
  
Unable to help herself, the brunette slips into the bathroom, enjoying the crisp syllables and rolling sounds of Luisa’s voice, and she realizes she never truly got to hear the older woman’s voice in all the time that she’s known her, at least, not on her own. Everytime the Bellas heard their World’s rivals sing, the blonde had always been just another voice among the harmonious arrangements of Das Sound Machine. Beca is starting to realize the perfection that she missed out on.  
  
Suddenly, Luisa’s singing cuts off, and the shower curtain pulls back just enough to reveal the older woman’s face, blonde hair plastered to her skull and water dripping enticing onto her bare shoulders. “Tiny maus?” An eyebrow arches curiously. “Was there something you needed?” A predatory grin spreads across the German’s full lips. “Perhaps a repeat of last night? You are more than welcome to join me. It is a little small in here but,” she pauses, eyes dancing mischieviously, “I think we could manage.”  
  
Beca gulps noisily. “I bet I could make you sing notes you never even thought of hitting.” _Jesus Christ, am I really doing the whole stupid babbling thing?_  
  
Luisa tilts her heads, eyes darkening ever so slightly. “Is that so? Komm und beweis es, kleine Maus.” And then, with a wink, the blonde disappears behind the shower curtain once again, and Beca is left with her mouth gaping open. This woman will be the death of me.  
  
Over the rushing water, she hears, “Tiny maus? Are you coming?”  
  
Wasting no time, Beca strips faster than she ever thought possible, scattering her discarded clothes to the wind. She grins as she slips into the shower and grabs the taller woman around the waist, pulling her down for a heated kiss. She can feel Luisa smiling against her lips.  
  
_But damn if it won’t be a hell of a way to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations courtesy of the wonderful lilolilyrae:
> 
> Ich will dass jeder du mir gehörst-- I want everyone to know you are mine.
> 
> Komm und beweis es, kleine Maus-- Come and prove it, tiny mouse.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Bis heute Abend.-- Until this evening.


End file.
